


Productivity is Overrated

by stileskolpath



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College Student Stiles, Derek Loves Stiles, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Horny Derek, M/M, Oblivious Derek, Oblivious Stiles, Prompt Fill, Scenting, Scents & Smells, Stiles Loves Derek, Werewolf Senses, but they both like each other, in the flashback
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 16:08:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stileskolpath/pseuds/stileskolpath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Stiles was trying very extremely hard not to look at the bed. No. He was focused on his laptop. On his cliometrics homework. Because economies are the way of the world. Because he had exactly twenty hours until he had to present his paper to his research class.</p><p>But Derek was making it really, really hard.</p><p>To concentrate.</p><p>Among other things."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Productivity is Overrated

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts From Mike:
> 
> "Stiles is busy doing homework, and is concentrating on it very hard. But Derek wants sex. Like, it doesn’t have to be a sex story. I just think it could be funny”
> 
> So, new thing. My boyfriend has discovered my Sterek obsession and actively encourages it. I have no fewer than like three of these sitting in my askbox from the fool.
> 
> Ugh. I guess I should love him for it. <3

Stiles was trying very extremely hard not to look at the bed. No. He was focused on his laptop. On his cliometrics homework. Because economies are the way of the world. Because he had exactly twenty hours until he had to present his paper to his research class.

But Derek was making it really, really hard.

To concentrate.

Among other things.

He was sprawled out on the bed, wearing nothing but a pair of Stiles’ boxers (which Stiles didn’t mind, because holy shitfuck did Derek look hot in them), and one of his old t-shirts (which, again, Stiles didn’t mind, because it was practically skin-tight on him and ungh). He was fucking leering at him in the whole paint-me-like-one-of-your-french-girls pose from Titanic, his eyebrows of doom doing that smoldering, scowly thing that Stiles did not, repeat, did not find equal parts ridiculously sexy and fucking adorable.

“Stiles…” Stiles ignored the request, focusing on the screen of his laptop as he typed furiously.

“Stiles,” Derek pleaded a second time. He thought his computer might explode from the sheer force of his concentration.

“Sti-”

“What, what, what?!” Stiles snapped, anger slipping into his already stressed-out voice. “What could you possibly want?”

Derek whined. No joke, literally whined. It was more adorable than Stiles could possibly imagine, and therefore, only served to compound his frustration. “Pay attention to meee.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, just as Derek slipped a playful hand beneath the waistband of Stiles’ boxers at his hip, exposing a tract of perfectly-ridged muscle, complete with the perfect, greek-god-like v-shaped line of his lower abdominals. He slid the shorts down a little more, making his come hither eyebrows at Stiles.

Stiles rolled his eyes harder and turned back to his computer, eliciting a mournful growl from his werewolf boyfriend. Whatever. He could deal with Derek’s sexual frustration later. Right now, cliometrics. Because reasons.

And for a few minutes, he had relative peace and quiet, because Derek had apparently given up on wooing Stiles away from his work.

That was when familiar, soft hands slid over his shoulders. Stiles could feel Derek’s warm breath against the back of his neck as his hands, his evil, distracting hands brushed over his collarbones, pads of his thumbs playing with the ridges, grazing the dimples between them and the base of Stiles’ neck.

Then suddenly, Derek’s lips were pressed lightly against his neck, all hot and perfect and misfiring his nerves gloriously wherever they touched. But no. No. Stiles Stilinski was a man of resolve. Of self control, of— holyfuckingshit that feels good. Derek had slipped a hand underneath the opening of his shirt, and had idly slid it across his chest, grazing a nipple ever so slightly.

Stiles tried to bite back a gasp, failing miserably as his heart hitched in his chest, and Derek caught it. Stiles knew because the werewolf was smiling like an evil shit into the wrecked stripe of muscle up the side of his neck. His fingers stopped typing, and he let his head fall back as Derek licked across his throat, nipping lightly at the skin.

“I really hate you sometimes,” Stiles moaned, his eyes closing as he tried desperately to not focus on Derek’s anything.

“Lying, of course,” Derek responded, his lips still half-buried in Stiles’ skin. Stiles wondered if it were possible to procure a small quantity of mountain ash to draw a circle around himself when he needed to study.

“Of course I’m lying. But I need to finish this paper. We can do that…” he motioned towards Derek’s absent-until-this-point other hand as it slid beneath the top of his jeans, following the direction of the majority of Stiles’ blood, “…later.”

“But I want to do it now,” Derek whined again. What resolve Stiles had left was beginning to crumble, just as it had all those years ago, when Scott had let it slip about his best friend’s huge, totally obvious crush on the brooding werewolf.

—

“Dude, I totally thought you knew.”

“How could I possibly have known? Stiles has never said anything to me about it.”

In the corner, Lydia had scoffed. “Ugh, boys. So dense…” She got up from filing her nails to meet the pair where they were leaned over a collection of maps and ancient-looking books. They had been hunting a giant lizard-snake of some kind that was hanging around the borders of the preserve. “Of course he wasn’t going to say anything to you about it. Hell, it took him like ten years to even talk to me without needing to give himself a pep talk in the bathroom first. And he crushed on me waaay harder than he is crushing on you.” She started filing her nails again.

Scott laughed. Stiles would never forgive him for it. “I highly doubt that. Stiles never gave you a specific ringtone on his phone, or stopped by your house every day or launched into soliloquies about your perfect…” he gestured towards the general butt-region of Derek’s leaning form, “…figure when we played Halo on fridays.” The werewolf raised his eyebrows halfway up his head in surprise.

“What’s my ringtone?” Derek asked. Scott ignored him.

A flash of jealousy crossed Lydia’s face as she spoke again, wielding her nail-file like a dagger. “I’ll have you know that Stiles was totally, hopelessly, in—” Aiden cut her off.

“Uh, babe, I’m right here, you know.” He waved at her from the couch, neglected puppy-look scrawled across his face.

“Yes, I know,” Lydia answered, a little too sharply, waving him off with her nail-file weapon. She turned her attention back to Scott. “Whatever, my point is, Stiles would never say anything about it, especially to Derek. Let alone drop any hints to it.”

“Well, have you smelled him when Derek’s around? The dude’s scent is like straight-up porn. I’m surprised I don’t get turned on when the both of them are around.” Lydia shrugged her shoulders, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I don’t usually smell him, so, you know…” She returned her attention to filing her nails as she strode back over to Aiden and sat down in his lap.

Isaac glared at Scott from the pillar he was aggressively leaning on. “What, don’t give me that look,” Scott protested. “You know it’s physiologically impossible for me to be turned on by Stiles, I mean, the dude is like my brother.” Isaac rolled his eyes as Derek responded.

“I’ve never smelled it. He always just smells like, you know, Stiles.” Derek shrugged. “Like citrus and cinnamon, with a hint of…” He stopped himself, his ears going red from embarrassment. Scott ignored it and turned back to Isaac. “Back me up here, doesn’t Stiles scent change when he’s around Derek?”

Isaac rolled his eyes again, a lingering side-effect from when he was living with Derek. “Yeah, I don’t actively smell Stiles on a regular basis, dude.”

Scott blinked at Isaac’s betrayal of his point as he jumped his attention back to Derek. “Regardless, you should have picked up on it.” He nudged the older werewolf, who growled at him for the needless contact.

“Should have picked up on what?” Stiles asked as he threw the hand-towel back into the bathroom. Scott shook his head in a frantic, don’t-mention-the-thing kind of way that made Derek roll his eyes so hard Stiles thought he was going to detach a retina.

“This,” Derek said as he pushed past Scott, walking right up to Stiles and planting a firm kiss on his lips. He kind of froze on the spot, his mind not even processing what was going on for a full second before his brain kicked into high gear and his lips reacted to Derek’s. He felt a hand slide up the nape of his neck into his hair as Derek dove into it, sliding a tongue past Stiles’ lips.

Stiles let out a high sound that he wasn’t particularly proud of, and Derek gasped a sharp breath in response.

It was Allison who whipped the empty take-out container at Derek. “Hey, idiots, get a room.” Scott sniggered, and Stiles flicked him off. That was it. That was the moment when Stiles’ once-invincible self-control and defenses had come crashing down around him, like a house of cards in a hurricane.

—

The memory faded as Stiles looked at his paper, still decidedly incomplete, with one page left to go before he could call it quits. Derek had apparently given up his advances, and was palcidly resting his head on Stiles’ shoulder, hands wrapped idly around his waist, fingers drawing absent-minded circles into his abdomen.

“Can I help you?” Stiles gave Derek his own side-eyed glare.

“Apparently not. One minute you were bitching about me wanting to touch you, the next you kind of went all quiet and dead-zoned.”

“Sorry, I was thinking about something,” Stiles said as he started typing again.

“What?”

“About when Scott let it slip that I liked you.” He heard Derek crack a smile, practically feeling the heat radiating off of the werewolf’s stupidly perfect blushing cheeks.

“That was a long time ago…” Derek’s statement kind of faded as he undoubtedly was reliving the same memory in his own mind. Stiles gave him a playful nudge.

“Let me finish this paper, and then we can fool around, okay?” Derek snapped out of his reverie, and lifted his head off of Stiles’ shoulder.

“Fiiiiiiiiiiine. But don’t take too long. We haven’t done it in like a week. I have needs. And if you aren’t prepared to fill them, I’ll find someone who will.” Stiles chuckled at the idle, edgeless threat. “Please, you couldn’t find someone as cool as me with a weird, oddly-specific werewolf kink and an open mind. Now go away so I can finish. I’ll be over there in a second. Derek grumbled something about being able to find anyone he wanted as he bent down to give Stiles a quick peck on the cheek.

“What was that?” Stiles cocked an eyebrow as Derek strode away from him, his ass shifting from side-to-side gloriously as he walked.

“Nothing, loves you,” he called over his shoulder as he ambled back towards the bed. He let himself plop into it face-first, dramatically sighing as he did so.

Stiles shook his head. Somewhere between meeting in the woods all those years ago and now, he started dating a moron. “Love you too.” He started typing again, getting about five minutes worth of work done before Derek was at it again.

“Stiles.” Stiles ignored it, and offered a silent, angry plea to the heavens for his next boyfriend to be normal. “Stiles,” Derek whispered. Stiles rolled his eyes, again, ignoring it. Finally, Derek brought out the whine. “Stiiiiiiles…”

“Oh my god, Derek, I am almost done. Would you just—”

“But I’m boooored,” he complained dramatically. Stiles looked up, and fucking meeped. Because this time, not only was Derek lying in the same Titanic-inspired pose as before, but he had also divested himself of Stiles’ boxers and shirt. He waggled his eyebrows seductively. Stiles hated that all the blood in his body was rushing away from his brain at the sight of Derek’s naked body.

He didn’t even save his paper as closed his laptop, stripping off his shirt as he padded across the floor toward the bed.

“You know, these needs of yours is seriously hindering my productivity,” Stiles complained half heartedly as Derek sat up to finish disrobing him.

Derek scoffed as he yanked down Stiles’ jeans and underwear in one fluid motion. “Whatever, don’t even pretend like you don’t love it.” He wrapped his hands around Stiles hips as he pulled the human down on top of his lap and began kissing his neck.

Stiles groaned in agreement. “Productivity is overrated.” Derek bit him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it. Leave kudos and comments before you go!
> 
> Also feel free to check out the rest of my Sterek stuff at my blog: watchthewolvesrun.tumblr.com
> 
> Thanks again!


End file.
